Mr. Malsom laughed out loud. "She still don't give a goddamn about your rifle."
It stung R. L. Davis, which it was intended to do. "I wasn't aiming at her!"
"But she doesn't know that." Mr. Malsom was grinning, turning then and reaching out a hand as Diego Luz approached them with the whiskey.
"Hell, I wanted to hit her she'd be laying there, you know it."
"Well, now, you go tell her that," Mr. Malsom said, working the cork loose, "and she'll know it." He took a drink from the bottle and passed it to Mr. Beaudry, who drank and handed the bottle to Mr. Tanner. Mr.
Tanner did not drink; he passed the bottle to R. L. Davis, who was standing, staring at Mr. Malsom. Finally R. L. Davis jerked the bottle up, took a long swallow, and that part was over.
Mr. Malsom said to Mr. Tanner, "You don't want any?"
"Not today," Mr. Tanner answered. He continued to stare out across the pasture.
Mr. Malsom watched him. "You feel strongly about this army deserter."
"I told you," Mr. Tanner said, "he killed a man was a friend of mine."
"No, I don't believe you did."
"James C. Baxter of Fort Huachuca," Mr. Tanner said. "He come across a tulapai still this nigger soldier was working with some Indians.
The nigger thought Baxter would tell the army people, so he shot him and ran off with a woman."
"And you saw him this morning."
"I had come in last night and stopped off, going to Tucson," Mr.
Tanner said. "This morning I was getting ready to leave when I saw him; him and the woman."
"I was right there," R. L. Davis said. "Right, Mr. Tanner? Him and I were on the porch by the Republic and Rincon goes by in the wagon. Mr.
Tanner said, 'You know that man?' I said, 'Only that he's lived up north of town a few months. Him and the woman.' 'Well, I know him,' Mr. Tanner said. 'That man's an army deserter wanted for murder.' I said, 'Well, let's go get him.' He had a start on us and that's how he got to the hut before we could grab on to him. He's been holed up ever since."
Mr. Malsom said, "Then you didn't talk to him."
"Listen," Mr. Tanner said, "I've kept that man's face before my eyes this past year."
Bob Valdez, somewhat behind Mr. Tanner and to the side, moved in a little closer. "You know this is the same man, uh?"
Mr. Tanner looked around. He stared at Valdez. That's all he did--just stared.
"I mean, we have to be sure," Bob Valdez said. "It's a serious thing."
Now Mr. Malsom and Mr. Beaudry were looking up at him. "We,"
Mr. Beaudry said. "I'll tell you what, Roberto. We need help we'll call you. All right?"
"You hired me," Bob Valdez said, standing alone above them. He was serious but he shrugged and smiled a little to take the edge off the words. "What did you hire me for?" "Well," Mr. Beaudry said, acting it out, looking past Bob Valdez and along the road both ways, "I was to see some drunk Mexicans I'd point them out."
A person can be in two different places and he will be two different people. Maybe if you think of some more places the person will be more people, but don't take it too far. This is Bob Valdez standing by himself with the shotgun and having only the shotgun to hold on to.
This is one Bob Valdez. About twenty years old. Mr. Beaudry and others could try and think of a time when Bob Valdez might have drunk too much or swaggered or had a certain smart look on his face, but they would never recall such a time. This Bob Valdez was all right.
Another Bob Valdez inside the Bob Valdez at the pasture that day worked for the army one time and was a guide when Crook chased Chato and Chihuahua down into the Madres. He was seventeen then, with a Springfield and Apache moccasins that came up to his knees. He would sit at night with the Apache scouts from San Carlos, eating with them and talking some as he learned Chiricahua. He would keep up with them all day and shoot the Springfield one hell of a lot better than any of them could shoot. He came home with a scalp but never showed it to anyone and had thrown it away by the time he went to work for Maricopa. Shortly after that he was named town constable at twenty-five dollars a month, getting the job because he got along with people: the Mexicans in town who drank too much on Saturday night liked him and that was the main thing.
The men with the whiskey bottle had forgotten Valdez. They stayed in the hollow where the shade was cool watching the line shack and waiting for the army deserter to realize it was all up with him. He would realize it and open the door and be cut down as he came outside. It was a matter of time only.
Bob Valdez stayed on the open part of the slope that was turning to shade, sitting now like an Apache and every once in a while making a cigarette and smoking it slowly as he thought about himself and Mr.
Tanner and the others, then thinking about the army deserter.
Diego Luz came and squatted next to him, his arms on his knees and his big hands that he used for breaking horses hanging in front of him.
"Stay near if they want you for something," Valdez said. He was watching Beaudry tilt the bottle up. Diego Luz said nothing.
"One of them bends over," Bob Valdez said then, "you kiss it, uh?"
Diego Luz looked at him, patient about it. Not mad or even stirred up. "Why don't you go home?"
"He says Get me a bottle, you run."
"I get it. I don't run."
"Smile and hold your hat, uh?"
"And don't talk so much."
"Not unless they talk to you first."
"You better go home," Diego said.
Bob Valdez said, "That's why you hit the horses."
"Listen," Diego Luz said, scowling a bit now. "They pay me to break horses. They pay you to talk to drunks on Saturday night and keep them from killing somebody. They don't pay you for what you think or how you feel, so if you take their money, keep your mouth shut. All right?"
Diego Luz got up and walked away, down toward the hollow. The hell with this kid, he was thinking. He'll learn or he won't learn, but the hell with him. He was also thinking that maybe he could get a drink from that bottle. Maybe there'd be a half inch left nobody wanted and Mr. Malsom would tell him to kill it.
But it was already finished. R. L. Davis was playing with the bottle, holding it by the neck and flipping it up and catching it as it came down. Beaudry was saying, "What about after dark?" Looking at Mr.
Tanner, who was thinking about something else and didn't notice. R L.
Davis stopped flipping the bottle. He said, "Put some men on the rise right above the hut; he comes out, bust him."
"Well, they should get the men over there," Mr. Beaudry said, looking at the sky. "It won't be long till dark."
"Where's he going?" Mr. Malsom said.
The others looked up, stopped in whatever they were doing or thinking by the suddenness of Mr. Malsom's voice.
"Hey, Valdez!" R. L. Davis yelled out. "Where do you think you're going?"
Bob Valdez had circled them and was already below them on the slope, leaving the pines now and entering the scrub brush. He didn't stop or look back. "Valdez!"
Mr. Tanner raised one hand to silence R. L. Davis, all the time watching Bob Valdez getting smaller, going straight through the scrub, not just walking or passing the time but going right out to the pasture.
"Look at him," Mr. Malsom said. There was some admiration in the voice.
"He's dumber than he looks," R. L. Davis said. Then jumped a little as Mr. Tanner touched his arm.
"Come on," Mr. Tanner said. "With a rifle." And started down the slope, hurrying and not seeming to care if he might stumble on the loose gravel.
Bob Valdez was now halfway across the pasture, the shotgun pointed down at his side, his eyes not leaving the door of the line shack. The door was probably already open enough for a rifle barrel to poke through. He guessed the army deserter was covering him, letting him get as close as he wanted; the closer he came, the easier to hit him.